


much like fizzling

by breathingvacancy



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, F/F, Hate Sex, Mild Sexual Content, Roughness, Tokyo Ghoul Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathingvacancy/pseuds/breathingvacancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t recall the pain, if there was such a thing. She recalls the moment. The way it drew out. The way her blood seemed to burst fourth in a slow motion geyser. The way a matter of seconds dragged on like a boring movie and all the commotion around her was muted as a sole crimson rose bloomed on her wedding-white uniform coat.</p><p>At that time the fight was already won. That ghoul could’ve killed her. For some reason it didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	much like fizzling

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergent AU wherein Matsumae and Hairu survive the ETO, but Shuu and Ui are killed. Crack. Ugly pacing. Awkwardness. Weak transitions. Strange blend of hate/comfort sex.

After the blunder that the Exterminate Tsukiyama Operation was, Hairu is on recovery leave for nearly two months.

She spends the first two weeks in the hospital, her sternum repaired with plates and screws, her veins pumped full of donated blood, her flesh sewn, cut, and sewn some more. She brushed Death, they tell her. Her soul was dancing between the Grim Reaper’s fingers but he didn’t quite pinch it.

She’s lucky, they say. It was so close, they inform her. If she had been rushed to the hospital just a minute later, or if she had been impaled just a centimeter more to the left, or if she had lost just a drop more blood.

It would have been her funeral, they say.

And would anyone have come?

Hairu hears all about how fortunate she is and lets it play through her head over and over like a catchy song that’s gone out of style. She has the time. Arima visits her just once. He wishes her well and admonishes her in the same monotone breath and it is not what she wants, but it is something at least.

No one else ever visits. She’s mostly sure she doesn’t care. She has time to mull over her almost untimely death and bounce her musings off herself. Her arms are tethered to IVs and her back is supported by an impersonal pillow far too puffy. White, scratchy sheets agitate her restless legs. A thin blanket that reeks of antiseptic is drawn over them.

In the quiet isolation, more than anything else they tell her, it just hits that Koori is…

Well, pondering distracts Hairu from thoughts like those. The ones that stab the throat and swallow up everything else. The ones that tempt tears but never quite deliver.

It doesn’t take very long to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t luck that saved her from the brink. It wasn’t luck, or a divine gift, or anything of the sort.

It was that ghoul. That ghoul could have killed her. It gained the upper hand and Hairu couldn’t bounce back fast enough. Her quinque fell from her grasp. She slipped in blood and folded like a fallen file as its kagune pierced through her.

She doesn’t recall the pain, if there was such a thing. She recalls the moment. The way it drew out. The way her blood seemed to burst fourth in a slow motion geyser. The way a matter of seconds dragged on like a boring movie and all the commotion around her was muted as a sole crimson rose bloomed on her wedding-white uniform coat.

At that time the fight was already won. That ghoul could’ve killed her. For some reason it didn’t.

Why?

Just why?

It doesn’t make any sense. Ghouls and humans are natural enemies. Hairu was actively putting her all into bringing that one down. What’s more, her team had already killed many of its allies.

She simply can’t comprehend it. No matter how much time she has to replay the scene of their battle, it never adds up right.

* * *

 

It takes her three months to find the ghoul. It's residing in an abandoned garage in a cluttered neighborhood where it's found a job as a janitor. With the physical description, the area on high alert, and everyone else focusing on Aogiri it really takes no time at all.

Comparatively.

Haru keeps this information for herself.

* * *

 

The ghoul only looks up from its ratty mattress when Hairu quietly enters through the side door.

“You again,” it states simply. It doesn’t appear surprised. It’s pale with fatigue. Its slightly longer sable hair looks somewhat messy. It doesn’t even seem interested in her presence.

“Just me this time,” Hairu says. She’s never had a conversation with a ghoul before. The closest she got was feeding back into the banter this one had thrown at her.

“Go ahead and kill me,” it breathes, bowing its head like its been taken to the guillotine. “I won’t fight you.”

“Why not?” Hairu asks even though that is not what she came to ask and killing hadn’t been on the agenda at all. “You’re pretty tough.”

“There is no point to my life anymore. I lived to protection someone. I failed in that duty. I thought living on alone might be my punishment for doing so, but you’ve sought me out. Feelings are what make you stronger, Dove. Devotion, love…Without him to fight for, I will lose.”

“What human things to say,” Hairu muses without any weight attached. It is an idle realization, a passing interest.

“Sentiment isn’t exclusive,” the ghoul declares, absent of warmth.

“Well,” Hairu tosses up her hands. “I didn’t come here to kill you. I came here because I need to know something.”

The ghoul tiredly raises its head. “If there are any secrets the Tsukiyama have left, I won’t reveal them.”

“Nothing like that.” Hairu tents her fingers together and inhales slowly. “You didn’t kill me. You could have and you didn’t. So why didn’t you?”

The ghoul tips its head back and fixes its gaze upon the ceiling. “I considered it. However, I’d already failed my duty. My master was slaughtered under my guard. Killing you would have been a pointless affair.”

“You could avenge him,” Hairu says. “Right here. Right now.”

The ghoul suddenly stands and cups her cheek. Its— her palm is warm, her touch a bit too human for comfort. “You didn’t kill him. Just your kind.”

Hairu sputters, entirely baffled. Not once had it ever even had the inkling to cross her mind that there might be a difference.

She jerks back from the ghoul’s hand like it’s scalding water and slaps it away for good measure.

The ghoul blinks her nearly fully obsidian gaze and smirks bitterly.

Hairu turns away and takes her leave without another word.

* * *

 

No matter how hard she tries, Hairu cannot forget the sensation of that ghoul’s palm so soft on her face.

Nor can she forget the strange, jarring idea of differentiation between she and other investigators. Obviously fighting styles varied, abilities varied, assignments varied. Ranks and squads reflected all that.

But when it came to the mechanics of battle, ghouls were simply ghouls and investigators were simply investigators. It should be no different whether it was Hairu who landed the killing blow, or Haise, or K…

It just.

Hairu wraps her arms around herself as she struggles to make sense of their encounter yet again.  
It just wasn’t different. At all.

Why the ghoul seemed to think so, she can’t begin to comprehend. It’s a puzzle with crooked pieces. But why should she try to understand the thoughts of a ghoul anyway?

* * *

 

Hairu is not proud of herself for winding back up in the rusty, ramshackle garage. Her superiors have always irritated her for the most part, taking her credit and the like. But she’s never disliked it enough to betray them. Betraying them is exactly what she’s doing when she’s seeking out a ghoul, a known dangerous, formidable ghoul, without intent to capture or kill.

She’s on the bed again, a book in her lap. There is a quiche on the cover and the title is something French.

“You’re back, Ihei?”

Haru pauses. “You know my name.”

The ghoul shrugs. “Know thy enemy.”

“Do you know about the Sunlit Garden too?” Hairu lifts a brow.

“I assume you’re not referring to the piano piece. Now that, my master used to play often. I rather liked it.”

“So ghouls listen to music…”

“Is there any particular reason we wouldn’t?”

“Well I guess not.” Hairu huffs a sigh and shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“Are you here to kill me this time?” asks the ghoul.

“No.”

“Are you distracting me so one of your fellow Doves has an opening?”

“No. I…I didn’t tell anyone about you,” Hairu adds, quieter.

The ghoul saves her place with a bookmark and snaps it closed. “What else do you want?”

“Well for starters, why are you reading a book about food you can’t eat?”

“I find it interesting.”

“Okay…So when was the last time you did eat?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“You killed a human then.”

“Naturally.”

Hairu saunters closer. She stops when her shadow falls over the bed. “Do you like killing humans?”

All of a sudden the ghoul grabs her by the hands and swings her down onto the mattress. Hairu is too caught of guard to do anything. She bounces softly, a gasp of surprise leaving her lips. The ghoul lets go but her touch echoes in warm, crackling circuits of energy.

“I won’t be looked down on by you,” she declares simply.

Hairu sits up, fixing her with a wry simper. “I’d watch it. Just because I didn’t come here to kill you doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“And I’ve already told you it doesn’t matter if you do,” the ghoul states flatly. “And no, I don’t particularly enjoy killing normal humans. Most often I target the ones that irritate me. Doves, on the other hand, I do find some satisfaction in killing.”

“But you still didn’t kill me,” Hairu says.

“We’ve discussed that.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I’m aware.”

* * *

 

“I like killing ghouls,” Hairu admits the next time she inevitably winds up in the ghoul’s garage. This time she plops down on the mattress of her own accord.

“I got that impression,” the ghoul murmurs.

“I like the adrenaline rush of the fight. I like the looks on their faces when I get the upper hand. I like ripping into them with my quinque.” Hairu hums lightly and flexes her fingers. She can imagine gripping the handle of Aus. She can remember the moment its weight disappeared as it slipped from her hand. “I like killing ghouls with interesting kagune best. They make the coolest quinque, of course.”

The ghoul does not reply.

“Your kagune would’ve made a really cool quinque. Haise has your master’s, by the way. It’s pretty cool but yours would be far more unique.”

Immediately the ghoul bristles, incensed. She slaps Hairu across the face so hard Hairu’s ears ring as she topples over on her side. She touches her cheek tenderly once she sits up again, smirking. It’s going to leave a mark. She can practically feel the handprint swelling.

“Looks like I struck a nerve.”

The ghoul swallows audibly, her brow quivering with distress. She abruptly turns her face away.

“It’s Matsumae, right? Isn’t that what your other friend called you before Kijima split him in half?”

Matsumae remains turned rigidly away. Her back even stiffens another fraction.

Hairu waits for a lash of a sharp tongue that never comes. After a few moments Matsumae’s shoulders tremble faintly, only just perceptible to Hairu’s trained eye.

Matsumae’s next breath is audible and the shaking intensifies so slightly.

She stands up with robotic, straight movements and readies to walk away. Hairu grabs her by the wrist and yanks her back before she can take a step.

Tears gush out of her unusual eyes in generous supply, wetly clumping her lashes together and creating slick tracks down her cheeks. She gives Hairu a misty glance and then closes them. She buries her face in her hands and nearly shudders as she suppresses sobs.

Not once in her life has Hairu ever offered a comforting touch. To anyone. Ever.

Now she places her hand on the small of this ghoul— Matsumae’s back. She rubs it in small, chary circles. She won’t apologize. Not verbally. Maybe her touch isn’t even an apology at all.

Hairu thinks about Koori, wonders with a sting what her senpai would say if he could see her like this. See her taking a crack at soothing a crying ghoul. He’d be beyond disappointed and certainly pissed off.

Hairu looks at Matsumae. Trembling, purposeless, broken Matsumae. Matsumae who eats arbitrarily irritating humans and has a kagune that would make an exceptional quinque. Matsumae who missed her heart and didn’t bother to take aim again.

She rubs her back until she stills and is somehow only mildly surprised when Matsumae bonelessly slumps against her.

* * *

 

“Your master killed my partner,” Hairu states in a voice full of stale melon bread and tacky bus seats. “But you didn’t. And you didn’t kill me, either.”

“I didn’t,” Matsumae agrees.

“I’ve killed four ghouls this month,” Hairu tells her. “An S-rated bikaku. A koukaku far less impressive than yourself. And a pair of rinkaku twins that were likely affiliated with Aogiri. I was supposed to kill one and capture the other one, but it was fatally injured defending its sibling.”

“You’re vicious.” Matsumae cooly sips her coffee.

“You haven’t changed the way I think,” Hairu continues.

“I haven’t tried to.”

“But I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you.”

Matsumae tips her head. “And keep visiting me?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you don’t seem to care much for my company, Hairu.”

“Well I don’t. To tell you the truth, Matsumae,” Hairu chirps as her lips stretch in a wide, goblin like grin. “I despise you.”

Matsumae pauses and sets her cup down. “You despise me?”

“I hate you so much I can’t put it into words.” Hairu grins even wider, baring her teeth. Because for the first time she has questions. Matsumae hasn’t changed the way she thinks, no (not yet) but their interaction simply isn’t right. Hairu is not supposed to be here and she keeps coming back, drawn in by this gravity and all these questions she’s devoted her entire life internalizing nonexistence relevance.

Matsumae stands up and very purposely unbuttons her collar. She stares Hairu right in the eyes as she takes the ribbon holding back her ponytail and yanks it free.

“Then don’t put it into words,” she declares firmly.

Hairu breathes in the undertone and flings herself at Matsumae before she can regret it, smashing their lips together so hard their teeth clack. It sends pain rattling up to her skull. She forcefully rips Matsumae’s shirt open as Matsumae paws furiously at her coat.

“I hate you too,” Matsumae exhales as her teeth graze Hairu’s earlobe. “You always show up here, reminding me of the worst night of my life and using me to work out your problems.”

“I knew it,” Hairu laughs as she opens Matsumae’s pants and snakes her hand down her underwear. Short, soft hairs tickle her fingers as she curves her wrist and gruffly rubs along her entrance.

Matsumae backs her up against the wall and raises her leg, pressing her knee against Hairu’s hip both to cage her and give her easier access. She dips her head down and trails her tongue along Hairu’s now exposed breasts as the investigator jams her fingers inside.

 _“Fesso,”_ she hisses against Hairu’s flesh. The foreign curse sends a hot shiver up her spine. “You’re a puppet. You don’t know true loyalty, what it means to pledge yourself to something that matters. You follow orders because it’s all you know how to do.”

Hairu brings her free hand up and tangles it in Matsumae’s tresses, tugging hard. She continues thrusting her fingers in and out of her, palm vigorously rubbing her clit in the roughshod rhythm.

“And you,” she gasps as Matsumae bites around her nipple like a cookie-cutter, hard enough to draw a circle of blood. “You’re just so damn senseless. Nothing about you adds up! You hate me so much, but you let me live? You know I, a First Class Investigator, know where you live and where you hunt and you don’t run away?”

A low, sultry groan pushes through Matsumae’s lips. She slurps her way up Hairu’s collarbone and slides her own hand past Hairu’s panties.

“You don’t understand anything,” she grunts as she knuckles Hairu’s clit. _“Zoccola.”_

She nips Hairu’s bottom lip and Hairu swipes her tongue over her mouth to get a stringent, metallic taste of her own blood. Matsumae’s touch has her entrance throbbing wetter by the second and her heart racing like she’s in the thick of battle. Hairu clings onto the frustrated release like a lifeline and at last, a tear slips free.


End file.
